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Waking up (again) without the others noticing, Ed Steam mechanically went for his waxed mustache as he did whenever something like a haywire silly plot perturbed him, before realizing he was sorely missing this part of his definite features that earned him so much success with the ladies (and a few favors from the other gender as well, he wasn’t shy to admit). Anyway, rendered dejected by this, he grabbed his carefully concealed genuinely old pocket sundial dating back from the Egyptians, and turning with precise movements its gnomon to put it back to when it indicated a few hours ago, was brought back at the precise moment before he started to cut his signature waxed mustache.

On their way to the car for more convenient tools for the job, Janet continued to counter Pearl’s objections: “Oh, let’s do it and be done with it, we’ve got other fish to fry. Now that the plan to make Ed disappear and extort all his secrets from him is nothing but a fiasco, we’ve got at least to cover our tracks. ‘No guarantee where they’ll end up?’ Fine! Works great for me if you should ask! Wonderland? All the better!” Janet vituperated.
“Yeah, you probably right. Better be done with it before the next surge…”
“Shall you elaborate?”
“No time for this, deary, we’ve got work to do, bring on the pocket-sized forklift before others come out of this bleeding-though portal!”

Well trained by the dictates of his religion, Luigi was unaccustomed to listening to his intuition (it was the work of the devil and the weakness of his sinful self, he believed), but as he mopped up the spilled coffee, he had an impulse so strong that he was unable to control it, and picked the book up and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He checked his watch ~ what! it was 7:57 already! Where had the time gone? Five minutes later he emerged into the rosy glow of the early morning sunshine, making his way accross the square to the cafe where he customarily had coffee after his night shift at the Library. The occupants of the tents in the square were rustling about inside the tents, some of the early risers were sitting on folding chairs brewing up coffee on primus camping stoves. As Petronella poked her tousled head out of her tent, dreams of banana puddings in polystyrene cups still in her head, an old man shuffled past. A flock of pigeons swooped down at that moment, causing the old man to lurch. A book slid to the ground from under his jacket but he didn’t notice as he carried on accross the square. Petronella picked the book up, and retreated back into her tent.

“Don’t be silly Phoebe” a voice whispered in Jane’s ear in between a few copious sneezing.

Jane didn’t really know why, but suddenly the whole scene about Mark leaving her became essentially a farce. She could feel some sort of burlesque in that whole event that would have been difficult to explain. As though she would never have really cared for the man, or any other man in the world to provide for herself.

She was starting to feel different. She could feel a strong assurance building up, and even her body started to feel different.
Still, she couldn’t tell who she was; there was still that dark hazy cloud the shadow of which was cast over her memories, but it wasn’t from her memories that this sudden surge of power was coming. It was coming from deeper inside; the very core of her being, and it was making her different.

She reached for the pocket mirror in her bag to apply a fresh layer of make-up on her plump cheeks and blue eyes.
She didn’t notice the differences right away. One sometimes gets caught in the repetitiveness of usual and mundane actions and really forgets to see. And of course, the mirror’s size and angle was preventing her to see anything but her eyes if she didn’t think to use it differently. But her eyes were now different; not deep blue as before but a subtle shade of ash blue with hints of violet.
And then… She noticed the wrinkles. The plump cheeks had left place to a thinner face. Strangely, she found it even prettier.
And as she expressed this appreciation of her new features, she noticed that her blond mane was now a little more greyish.

She knew it wasn’t aging, and no she wasn’t delusional. She didn’t remember her name, but apparently she knew how to shape-shift.
Would it make her quest to remember her identity more difficult? She couldn’t have told, but she knew that something in her never forgot a single bit of her whole self.
That new self she was now who felt more like her real self than “Jane” needed a more adequate name.
Phoebe definitely had a ring to it that seemed appropriate.

“So, any of you noticed Becky Pooh at the party ?” Al asked Tina and Sam on their way back to their place, waiting patiently for a gondocab in the crowded chilly night.

“Jeeze, with this temperature, they probably will have to get the gondoskaters earlier” Tina managed to say, blowing some air in the hands of her costume. “Well, I’m not sure, though there was some distinct feeling that she was around” she said, going back to the question.

“I don’t know why, but I had that distinct feeling that she was a time-travelling goose” Sam said when their eyes asked about his impressions.
“Well, sounds daft like her, if she tried to pop into that fat lady under the white goose costume with the big watch pocket at the hall” Tina said with a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at those pop-ins,” Sam said ruefully, “They can really be something!”

Al chuckled with Tina as he was remembering Tina’s uncanny knack for projecting herself temporarily into unsuspicious Lewis-Writton-bags spy-ladies.

“So a goose, eh… why not after all…”

Georges and Salome’s journal

From Salome’s account of her introduction to the Turmak People (Part 3)

Cil and I have stayed on the Murtuane longer than was required for the report on the events occurring here. Though it was not required, it proved invaluable for me to gather much information on both the planet itself, but more important, on the interconnections with the other planets and the Guardians themselves.

A pivotal point in this exploratory mission was the impressive encounter with one of the few still focused Nirguals of this dimension. N’meôrl, as he introduced himself to us, out of concern for the current events came to contact Cil despite his looking askance at the Guardians on the whole.
As it appears to be, due to their acute awareness of how energy can be manipulated to create one’s own reality, some of the Guardians became to view themselves as superior in knowledge and skills as to the other conscious creatures roaming on this dimension —most of whom already having far more understanding of things deemed “magical” in my own earthly dimension of origin. However, viewing themselves as such (though by no means the standards in the Guardians societies) had them manipulate some of these others; mostly to entertain themselves or to experiment, without concern as to the others’ reactions.

Frown upon by many Guardians, this practice was tolerated notwithstanding, and had created a few pockets of what the Guardians called “slaves”. Inquiring to Cil as to how people with such thin veils between their subjective creative source and the objective realizations could become “slaves” to others, she had struggled a bit to explain to me at first. Allowing her to reach into my awareness for associations or analogies with similar energetic displays, she surprised me —surprised is even a mild word for my initial reaction— by telling me it was the same as our religions. Struggling initially to understand her point, I find myself, if not entirely agreeing with it, at least being able to explain what she meant by that. To her, people were ultimately free unless they themselves were tricked into bondage. But bondage could be of various nature, and she continued to explain, physical bondage was the less efficient of all. “Guidance”, on the opposite, with the proper construction of suggestions and beliefs, could yield very efficient results.
So, those “rogue” Guardians were nothing else but priests? The difference between this association and Cil’s distaste for them seemed too strong. Perhaps I would have to reassess my own beliefs.

So, apparently some of these Guardians had been responsible for disturbances. Cil seemed to understand that something grave was happening, but when she tried to explain to me, once again words or clusters of thoughts seemed to fail her. She found in my memory some analogy which seemed again quite besides the point, though very intriguing.
She said it was similar to what our medicine men were doing with their needles. She probably had reached into my memories of traditional acupuncture medicine. She went on to compare the planets as a single body, with bumps and hollows in energy; usually, the body knows how to harmoniously balance both of these, and a bump can reflect into a hollow and vice-versa. Sometimes, when people create illnesses, the practitioner will move these to help. But something else was happening here: the flow was artificially changed, she said.
“What was the point in that?” I asked. She pondered for a moment, then answered without judgment that it was probably for the sake of the experience.
“The Nirgual is mostly warning us that this experience may not lead to an equilibrium before long. That it may profoundly modify the energy on the planets, and not for the better. The Murtuane and its Turmak people have mostly had a stabilizing impact on the very energetic events happening on the Duane. Modifying this could quickly take things out of our hands” she said worriedly.

“Hang on a minute” he shouted to his friends as soon as they were out of the grocery store, burden with the loads of the bags.
Molly, Harvey and Francis looked puzzled at their foreign friend.
Then with a shrug, Harvey sat on a pile of snow that had fallen from the roof, and leaned against one of the pillars of the square place dimly lit by a buzzing orange light.

He run to the chalet on the left, which was apparently closed, but he knew there would probably be someone in there.
He opened the creaking door, not startled by the bells tinkling at his left ear, and went straight to the counter, as though he had always known the place. A young man with a goatee was there, busy sorting old papers for the annual closing of the hostel.

— Do you have a glass of water please? the stranger asked
— Oh yes, sure… And with that?

The man seemed to expect an answer… The stranger felt as if he knew that answer…

— Yes… one of your… you know… chocolate things, with the wolf on it.
— Exactly! the tenant was smiling.

The stranger fumbled in his pocket, not having thought of requiring any money for a glass of water. But now…
Phew, there was a coin in his left pocket. He drew it out, looked at it… A 3 euros coin? He didn’t know such a currency existed…

— Oh, I won’t have the change I fear, the man answered… But I can make you a credit memo.

He had no idea he would come back here soon, but the familiar place as much as the obliging man made him think that anything would be okay. At worse, he would have lost a few euros, which was no big loss.

— Sure.

The man showed him a red ticket, and leaning on the counter, proceeded with some explanations.

— This is your credit memo. Additionally, as the hostel won’t be fully rented, you can use this as a reservation for next week. It’s for Mr Arkandin. You will be able to enter the special exhibit and join the guided tour. It’s a laying down travel. People are expected to go nowhere, yet they will travel. Pillows and blankets will be provided.

He had a strange image in his mind of people laying on their backs and gliding on the floor in patterns leaving some tracks on the ground with various colours.

— It is supposed to show people some beliefs about monogamy. And keeping track of their own travels…

That was most puzzling… He wasn’t sure he would still be here next week, but that sounded intriguing enough to not be thrown in the bin right away…
He thanked the man after having had his glass of water and putting the wolf-brand candy and red square of paper in his pocket.

— There you are, sighed Molly, and what have taken you so long?

November 9 ^th

For Yurick, or perhaps shall we say, The Artist Formerly Known As Quintin this sequence of sequence of 911 has the signification of a reminder to be paying attention to self, and being present to himself.
The last few days have been, in appearance, quite devoid of exciting new installments of the story, yet, we nudge him not to judge this lack of activity on his part as categorically as he has been used to do. It was a time of self-retreat, a time we have shared with many other essences, as all is connected.
A very fine point which has been brought forth by Elias a few days ago (in Yurick’s perception of time) has been that you want to appreciate the process. His illustration was that of a beautiful flower bud that you hold, and that you don’t want to tear open, but rather let itself reveal its splendor, and also, its surprises.

It has prompted Yurick to remember something, which had lots of meaning to him.
Some years ago, when he was in Kyoto’s forests, he picked up an acorn, as he liked to have seeds or tree corns in his pockets. Back from his trip, in his home, there was this big pot of earth were an old plant had died from the summer heat, and he planted the acorn in it.
And he waited. Till he had to move, some months later, having renounced to have the acorn grow at all, as the soil’s surface was remaining desperately flat. Perhaps it had rotten altogether. Before leaving the apartment, Yurick started to rummage with his bare hands into the soil, to look for the remains of the acorn he believed had rotten, only to find it perfectly healthy. And even more, it had grown lots of long roots.
So he took it back home, where it was planted and still continues to grow at a rapid rate.

Looking at the now big sapling reminds Yurick how that process of growing roots was important for the plant, as they were essential for the oak to be able to survive the winters colds and the summers heats.

Such is the importance of these moments were inspiration seem to be scarce, or away. It is ever present, growing its roots very carefully inside the soil of your being, and expanding your connexions, redefining some, bringing new nourishments to yourself… The effects are not always immediately visible, but things never cease to move.

Be prepared to be amazed by the colors of the flowers and leaves your seed produces, for as Yurick’s oak was an unusual kind of oak (a chestnut oak ), the very seeds that are in your pockets or waiting in the soils of your dream gardens may reveal their own surprises…

— Daddy, daddy! I want to come with you!

Young Peregrine had been running after his father at the moment when he had put the letter in his pocket ready to go off the streets.

— Oh, really? Sean Doran Wrick was weighing the possibilities.

Peregrine was still in fluffy rabbit slippers and pajamas, but he had a very determined look on his young face.

— Then perhaps we should ask Guinevere to come with us too?
— OK, I go ask her!

And off was Peregrine, running down the hall of the large Dublin apartment to his sister’s room.

Sean was thoughtful… Well, Edmund had said that the private jet would be ready in an hour, so that was leaving him some time to have a nice beer at the pub before departing to New York to see the Traveling Reality Amusement Park, or T.R.A.P. for short, as the imaginative publicists of his father’s company had decided to brand the new revolutionary concept.

Sean had been supervising the very first prototype before he had met Margaret, and then had got more interested in his “real” family life than in amusement travels in fairy lands… But nonetheless his father had trusted his flair, and had kept him informed of the developments of the project.
Now, for the premiere of the T.R.A.P., he’d got some VIP invitations, but grieved with Margaret’s death, he had not wanted to go there at all. That is, until Becky had spoken about it…

Peregrine came back with a pout on his face.
— She’s not sure if she wants to come, he said…
— Oh well. Then, let me have my beer, and I come back in a few minutes to see if you and your sister are ready. I’ll pick up whomever is ready and packed up.
— Yipeeee! Peregrine’s eyes were gleaming with joy.